Let Me Be Your Saviour
by crazy.botch
Summary: {Summary Inside} — This story contains graphic descriptions self-mutilation, self-deprecation, PTSD, violence, flashbacks and mentions of rape. All other warning will be added to as the story progresses. If these things are touchy with you or triggering, I suggest you shy away from this story now.
1. —mini fill。

**Let Me Be Your Saviour** | Loki Laufeyson x Tony Stark | Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smut.

**_Warnings of self-mutilation, self-deprecation, PTSD, violence, flashbacks and mentions of rape. All other warning will be added to as the story progresses. If these things are touchy with you or triggering, I suggest you shy away from this story now._**

* * *

_Some of the most beautiful stories start with an ending and end with a new beginning. However, this story is far from beautiful. This is not a story for the weak willed or the faint of heart. It is not a story for those who fear the revelations of scars embedded so deep within oneself that one can never seem to escape it. Nor is it a story for those who believe that only way is up because really, for a while, the only way to go is down. This is not a story for those who believe that broken things can be fixed. This is a story that filled with more angst, more masks, more destruction and self deprecation that it is with love and contentment. Do not be confused by the words and the emotions you may think is being touched, focus on the actions. This is a story far more than even I can handle. _

* * *

Sometimes, he liked to step out onto his roof. He enjoyed the feeling of the wind against his face and standing at the edge, knowing that any bit of fierce wind or just another step would be the end of his humanity. It stablized him, reminded him of what he wasn't and what he truly was. And he cracked him just a little further everytime. Tonight had been a special night, he thought to himself. The scent of his own bloody thick and heady in the air as it trickled down his arms and he took a moment to gaze down at his bloodied arms, desperately enjoying how the thin and perfectly lined cuts littered his arms. It was dizzying or maybe it was the blood loss. He found himself grinning in an absolute state of feral emotion and was subconsciously glad no one could watch his pathetic downfall.

He supposed it was okay though. If he really sat and thought about it, which he..far more than he would've have liked to, _this_ was his redemption. His plead for forgivingness and he knew the others would agree. After all, it was them who pointed out his flaws despite how well he might have known them. _"After a mistake like that Stark, I'm not sure you deserve your genius title."_ _"Again, Stark! Your impulsiveness is weakness and this time...there's no going back or easy fix for what you've done."_

He snapped back to himself and closed his eyes, that grin still in place.

"_Sir?_" he swore he could hear the tinge of sadness in his AI's voice.  
"Jarvis, you know that you and Dummy and Butterfingers and You are the by far the best things in my life?"  
"_Yes, sire?_"  
"Good. As long as you remember that. Now, I'm quite sure that I'll never survive this jump, so I need you to relay this message to the others, 'I do not fear death for the fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.'"

He didn't have to wait for confirmation because he knew his AI just like his AI knew him and that smile turned bitter for just the briefest of moments. The unwittingness to leave behind the one things that helped keep the mask of sanity in tact. And as he stepped closer and closer to the edge, his steps shaky as the blood loss and anticipation combined, he purred. Finally reaching the end, he inhaled deeply once before taking one more step and feeling himself fall.

It was exhilarating. The feeling of falling was always perfect. The feeling of those insecurities and inadequecies drifting away, the same feeling that would arise as the guilt seemed to float away from his very being. And the wildness and bitterness disappeared from his smile, leaving him with a sated smile.

He was bracing himself for the impact, wanting to feel the pain of his body meeting the concrete floor and the brief intensity of pain before his body caved in. But it never came.

"Stark..._Man of Iron_!" that voice sounded so familiar and it took his slight pain addled brain a few moments to place the voice to the face.  
"Oh _hello to you too,_ Loki." he responded, the faintest trace of humor in his tone.

There was the briefest of silences and he found himself closing his eyes, his breathing shallowing out slowly.

"Isn't falling beautiful, Loki? It makes one feel lighter, makes them feel like they've done something worthy of respect," he chuckled softly and hummed softly "why'd you catch me, Loki? Why'd you save one who is worthy of the death they've chosen for themselves? why couldn't you let me fall?"

And just like that, the dam was broken and amidst harsh words, rugged whispers, pleads of sadness and eagerness to die, Loki say himself within the other. He flinched as the other continued to speak, not wanting to believe that someone he deemed an equal has sunk almost as deep as he had and as the other male in his arms fell asleep, Loki muttered a soft spell and teleported them to his private domain.

_Let me be your saviour.__  
_

* * *

_So here's another thing I decided to work on while I finish up the sequel to "Satisfaction". Again, it's based off a prompt I got from frostironprompt at LJ — /1uF6F. Of course, I again think this rubbish, but whatever. This will become a chaptered fic and this is only a mini-fill until I get everything plotted out properly. That being said, enjoy. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Also, I suck at summaries. Deal with it. _

— sincerely, **`crazy.{botch}**.


	2. prologue — the introduction。

— **The Introduction.**

{ _Warnings for vague depictions of self mutilation and equally as vague depictions child abuse (more like a vague mention, really) and a good bit of bloody imagery. Also, a warning for how absolutely unbeta'd this is and 悲しみ is the line break, it means "sadness" or "sorrow" in Japanese...seemed fitting enough. More notes at the end._ }

* * *

Masks, by definition, are objects normally worn on the face for protection, disguise, performance or entertainment. More often than not, people associate masks with entertainment or performance purposes. But my dear readers, I'd like to genuinely believe that you are aware, even subconsciously aware, of the fact that masks are not only objects of entertainment or performance and are sometimes the objects of sanity and protection. A disguise that one clings to when they are far, far too broken to fix themselves, far too insane to truly love themselves, and far to close to the edge to cling to anything else.

Now, before we begin our tale there are a few things you need to remember, reader. One, never ever sympathize or pity the broken for they do not wish to feel as though their situation is as bad as people think. The mask clouds their judgment sometimes. Two, save your tears. The broken do not wish for your tears, they've got their own tears they've chosen to leave unshed and their own scars as reminders. And finally, never ever think of the broken as weak. They are cracked, but not weak. They are everything, but weak. Do not baby them.

This is a tale of tragedy. But aren't all the beautiful stories in life started out as beautifully tragic?

悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ

_He was five. Far too young to be handling the weight of the world on his shoulders. Far too young to understand how a mask should even begin to work. But then again, he wasn't your average child, was he? He wasn't the one who found their happiness and contentment in playgrounds and friendships, he found it in technology, the hum of electricity and machinery combining with the beautiful tremble of creativity in his fingers. He was the child born into wealth and intelligence and it was only fair that he would be achieving the same level of intelligence his father had. But one would doubt that he'd understand how much of a downfall that intelligence, that genius mind, would be in the darkest times until he was far too low to pick himself up. _

_He was five. Creating his own fantasy, building his own robots, the gift of engineering seemingly imprinted deep in the subconscious of his mind. He was as happy as any child could be upon creating what he deemed his first and most perfect creation. And of course, like any other young boy, he wished to show it off. And that's how he found himself in the corner of his room, curled into himself, creation torn to bits and pieces and hands bloodied from the metal tearing into his skin as harshly as he torn into it. _

_He was five. Far too young to be haunted by the worries of not being good enough. Far too young to understand that the pain coming from the somewhat deep cuts in his hand, the blood rolling down his palms and onto the plush, black carpeting and blending in with the fabric was more than relieving to him. That the pain and the blood were the things that were keeping him from cracking. He grinned to himself, something feral and unfamiliar, but oh-so-right as he rested his hands on his head on his arms and watched the blood slowly drip from his wounds. _

_He was five. Far too young, yet far too old. Far too young to be broken, but one cannot help how nor when the cracks form. And isn't that such a pity?_

悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ

Now let's take a moment to breathe, shall we? Release that breath that you may or may not be holding, blink back the rush of tears that may or may not be gathering, and for goodness sake, swallow the sadness and the sympathy and the pity.

Rather than worrying about the safety of the remaining sanity in the main character of this tale, I suggest you worry about whether or not your psyche can handle continuing on for this is not even the tip of the iceberg and this is not the worse of worst yet. There is far more pain, more insanity, more self mutilation, and far, far more destruction to be told and uncovered. However, this tale isn't the faint of heart nor the weak willed. So, _my dearest readers_, close your eyes and determine the strength of your psyche. Inhale. Exhale. And now open your eyes.

Can you handle reading the tragic tale that is about to be woven?

悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ

_He was ten this time. Still too young to understand all of which he already understood, but he was a Stark and Starks are not weak, are they? He found himself alone in every aspect of word, but he couldn't bring himself to be upset over it. No, no. This was his punishment, it had to be. It's what his father told him. _

_He was only ten when those words rang loudly in his head. The words screamed at him when the scent of alcohol was thick in the air and equally thick on the breath of the older gentleman raising his voice. The words that destroyed his will just a little bit every time. The words he clung to instead of the praises that he deserved. He was only fooling himself if he thought that he and his creations were important. _

_He was only ten when he realized that his mind worked faster than the other children his age, but more than that, he realized just how many masks he already had built. Of course he hadn't know they were masks, far too young, but when he looked in the mirror and took in the bruises littering his face, his arms, and his bodies...he barely recognized himself. Nor did he recognize the smirk, the small little wild thing that tugged at the corner of his lips. _

_He was ten. The ten year old genius prodigy who was far too wise and far too broken for his age._

悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ

There are these breaks. Breaks such as these in which you are given time to rethink the choice you've made and decide whether or not continuing is something you wish to do. These breaks aren't long and after a while, their frequency will completely diminish because you've made your choice and you, your psyche, and your mind must deal with the consequences, or lack thereof, continuing on entails.

Now, my dearest readers, remember the warning I gave you earlier on? Not to sympathize, not to pity, no tears are to be shed, and never view the broken as weak? Did it hit you yet why I told you not to do those things? Aside from the reasonings I gave you? No. Then you've proven my point. The real reasoning behind those things is rather simple, actually. If you are too focused on the emotions and feelings that come with delving too deep into a story early on, you'll miss the small details that are quite important.

For example, where is the mother figure in this story? She hasn't made an appearance, so wherever is she? She is there, however, she is not an important piece to this tale. I've told you already, reader, this tale is one of angst and of sadness. The happiness one felt, is completely nonexistent compared to how deep the wounds are. The happiness is nothing but salt to the wounds.

Now, let's continue.

悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ

_He was fifteen when he cracked completely for the first time. He was fifteen and found himself in heading to what he considered the home to his own little twisted domain, MIT. He was young, but that seems to be a detail that lingers throughout this story, and obviously not welcomed. He was ridiculed automatically, the little 15 year old who was riding on his father's legacy to get him through the years, to make things easier for him. _

_And wasn't that just so blissfully ironic considering how hard he tried to please the only person who couldn't be pleased? _

_The whispers were so defeaning, so full of irony, that he couldn't help but smile. That smile that made it's way to his face ten years ago and only seemed to grow wilder and wilder with each passing day. Masks fitting firmly in place, the feral grin turning into something full of cockiness and self-assurance, and his steps as graceful as he was taught they should, he slinked his way through the air of whispers and to the place he'd call home for the next four years. _

_As he made his way to his room, it was more like an apartment if we're being honest here, the whispers seemed to increase in frequency and volume. When he finally managed to stumble his way into the room and behind the closed door, he found himself sliding down to the floor, back against the door and eyes closed. _

_Inhaling shuddered breaths, he loosened the grip he had on his back and gave into his own temptations; losing himself in the loud whispers of worthlessness that were stored in the back of his mind while the masks he built for himself cracked and fell around him. Lost in the sensations of being unmasked and indulging in how broken he was, he barely registered how his subconscious worked and how his hands seemed to move on their own accord. Dull nails sinking into the thin material of his shirt and reopening wounds not yet completely healed. _

_And as he curled in on himself, the words and whispers dimming and lulling to a soft hum in the back of his mind, he rested his head against his arm and watched the drip onto the floor below him. He was reminded of his five year old self, the little boy that sat in the corner of his room, slowly watching his blood drip to the floor, his eyes glazed over in complete sedation and a small, yet feral grin tugging at the corner of his lips. And for the briefest of moments, he thought to himself that this pain, this ball of himself that he creates when he needs the escape is far more of a home than anything he's ever had and anywhere he's ever been._

悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ・悲しみ

_And then he was twenty-one. Twenty-one years of age and officially an adult. He was twenty-one years of age and it was then it only then that the creator of his demons disappeared; his father was gone and his sorrows had been drowned in alcohol and the red, red, red of his own blood. He was twenty-one years of age; an adult, a lone warrior, a CEO, a business man...and far too deep in his own mental destruction that nothing seemed to matter. Just the burn of the alcohol in the back of his throat and the satsifaction of watching as tanned skin criss-crossed in the lines of his demons. _

_But he was twenty-one and he had no one to answer to anymore...just himself. _

* * *

**AN:** So, I'm terribly sorry if this seemed a bit rushed or a lot of it didn't connect in your mind. It's supposed to be the type of angst that's vague, but still felt and I didn't want to give a lot away or use too much flashback detailing cause there are definitely more and more flashbacks coming in to fill in the gaps. Also, there's probably a lot of typos. Sob. I'm sorry if this isn't good. I promse(and hope) it will seem/get better. And OP, I hope this is good for a prologue.

— sincerely, **`crazy.{botch}**


	3. chapter one — the fall。

— **The Fall.**

{ _Warnings for mentions of alcohol abuse and self-harm. Also, a warning for suicide attempts and for how absolutely unbeta'd this is. More notes at the end._ }

* * *

Oh, hello there. Welcome back and I must admit that I am rather shocked by your return...I also must admit that I am equally as amused as I am shocked. I'm not sure whether you are equally as broken or haven't the slightest bit of self preservation. Nevertheless, I do genuinely welcome you back.

Tragic stories are lovely, aren't they? They fill you emotions, cloud your judgment, make you _feel_ and gosh, that's absolutely stunning, isn't it? Sometimes stories like this have several discords, several things that lead to bouts of confusion, but don't you worry, my precious readers, in this case..._it'll all make sense at the end_.

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

_He could still hear the screams and cries. The sounds that may have faded for those who were victims of the same thing he was. And he watched. He watched with that broken look, that paling skin, that look that was so open...it would hurt anyone who would've seen it. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, desperately trying to collect his himself and stopping the crack before it was too much for him to take. His eyes fluttered open and as he floated high in the air, he felt as if he wasn't high enough...no, not high enough for this fall. _

_His eyes glassed over._

"_Sir?" _

_And he found himself unable to reply, his gaze focused not on the full destruction around him, but at where his failures laid. He was besides himself, nothing else seemed to exist and yeah, he was destroying himself. He had failed and fuck, didn't that hurt and dig deeper than it necessarily should have. _

"_Sir...your levels are elevating...Sir, please come back to me. Sir!"_

_If he wasn't in the suit, he was sure he'd jump at how quickly and intensely he was snapped out of his thoughts and back to the real world. And now that he was back to himself, he could hear just how quickly he was breathing, fast his heart was pounding, and how dizzying everything seemed to be. He doubted that he'd still be hovering if it wasn't for Jarvis. _

_He lowered himself to the ground and closed his eyes once more, not bothering lift the faceplate as he scanned the other members. They were gearing up to lay it on thick and he knew this, but at this point...he was sure that nothing could drown out the screams; the harsh screams of failure and of death; the screams of the end. And he was ready to take the fall. Far, far too ready. _

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

_He bit his tongue harshly, tasting the bitter tang of blood and inhaling deeply as the he was railed into for the umpteenth time that day. First from Coulson, then from Fury and when he thought he'd get a moment to breathe, he was proven wrong as it seemed that everyone chose the opportunity to gather up and rail him at his own home. And as he sat there taking every word, every dismissal, __**every. single. stab.**__, he bit his tongue. _

_Sometimes he'd bite his tongue to refrain from saying something really snippy (because let's be honest here, he was snarky and snippy and everything crude and rude) and other times he'd bite it just to bite back that sick, feral grin that he had gotten so used to wearing when he was alone with his demons because he deserved this. He deserved to take all of the criticisms, all the of looks of disgust and disappointment. He deserved it...and most of all, he was used to it. _

_And surely, he was far sicker than he thought himself to be because as the harsh words ran up and down his spine and then joined the never dying screams of his failure in his head...he realized just how much he missed this._

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

_He sighed as he heaved himself into his room and as he shut the door behind himself, he slid down to the floor, resting his back against the closed door and pulling his knees up to himself, curling into himself as he did that first day of MIT and that dreadful day when he was five. His head found its way to his knees._

"_Sir...?" a part of him wanted to grin at the slight hesistance and worry he could hear in the AI's voice. _

"_Yes, J?" his own voice sounded different to him...so weak and fragile. _

"_Shall I alert someone? Ms. Potts. Colonel Rhodes? Anyone?"_

_He raised his head and smirked, the smirk something dark and twisted and ugly on his face before he pushed himself to his feet. "Not at all. I'm quite alright."_

_And wasn't that a lie? _

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

Oh my, it seems that I may have forgotten my manners and I may have also gotten deeply enthralled in this tale alongside you. My apologies, I suppose it is in order for how much has been woven, but as always, I can assure you that it isn't enough. There are loopholes and they'll always be loopholes in this stories, but they'll be filled as loopholes tend to be. And while patience is a virtue and waiting is a hassle, I do admit that neither matter in this case. You will be left with some sort of numbing pain in your chest, in your mind and you'll feel the shivers run up and down your back because you _get it_ and _that hurts_, hurts more than anything else.

Now, remember readers, I won't always be here nor will the pauses. They won't always be a hand that you can grab that keeps you afloat beause in order to truly understand this story, you'll need to fall and drown into the abyss of these characters. Swallow their sadness and tears as your own. Take one look at their psyche and hope that yours will never hit the depths of darkness theirs had.

And look at that, our break has finished, but you needed worry, _we'll meet again at the bottom_.

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

_He'd lost track of how many hours had come and gone, but then again, he lost track of how many drinks he had, how many cuts he had littered his arms with. But that didn't matter here and now, no no, definitely not. And he found himself giggling softly in hysteria. Giggling until those soft hiccupped giggles dissolved into broken sobs that matched up to the screaming and harsh wordings in his ear. _

_Starks were strong. Never weak. Never weak. But he...he had always broken the status quo for his namesake, right? He was always the weak, the failed, the broken...and damn, why did drinking only increase the depths of despair?_

_He had a moment of clarity as he stared down at his arms, taking note of the blood running down them with the same glee that he had had previously. The glee that came with the pain, the sight of him bleeding for his pathetic sins. The glee that he thought had long ago left him. But he couldn't have really thought that, could he? After all, he was still that broken little kid inside, hoping and reaching for an acceptance that he couldn't have then and surely, couldn't have now. _

_And he laughed. Laughed something twisted that made him sick. Sick of everything, sick of himself. _

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

_It was hours later he found himself on his roof, humming the melody of some foreign song that evoked some feeling in him that he couldn't exactly place, but it made him smile. And he continued to hum softly, losing himself in the dark of the night, the sadness of the melody. It hit him that he had muted Jarvis a while ago and even in his drunken, depressed stupor, he realized that he wanted to at least talk to the only source of friendship he'd ever grow to understand and appreciate in a long time before he did something completely stupid. _

"_Sir?" he swore he could hear the tinge of sadness in his AI's voice. _

"_Jarvis, you know that you and Dummy and Butterfingers and You are the by far the best things in my life?"_

"_Yes, sir?"_

"_Good. As long as you remember that. Now, I'm quite sure that I'll never survive this jump, so I need you to relay this message to the others, 'I do not fear death for the fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.'"_

_Never let it be sad that Tony Stark was not a man of his word and that some of his best ideas came from drunken stupors or things blurted out due to a lack of brain to mouth filter. And it was at that moment, that moment when the words spilled from his lips without a thought that he realized just how good of an idea that was. _

_He didn't have to wait for confirmation because he knew his AI just like his AI knew him and that he momentarily tasted the bitterness that came with this satisfaction just for the briefest of moments. The unwittingness to leave behind the one things that helped keep the mask of sanity intact creeping up on his slowly. And as he stepped closer and closer to the edge, his steps shaky as the blood loss, drunkeness, and anticipation combined, he purred. Finally reaching the end, he inhaled deeply once before taking one more step and feeling himself fall. _

_And my, was it exhilarating. The feeling of falling was always perfect. The feeling of those insecurities and inadequecies drifting away, the same feeling that would arise as the guilt seemed to float away from his very being. And the wildness and bitterness disappeared from his smile, leaving him with a sated smile. _

_He was falling...and that feeling was far more beautiful than anything he'd ever felt before._

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

_He was bracing himself for the impact, wanting to feel the pain of his body meeting the concrete floor and the brief intensity of pain before his body caved in. But it never came._

"_Stark...Man of Iron!" that voice sounded so familiar and it took his slight pain addled brain a few moments to place the voice to the face. _

"_Oh hello to you too, Loki." he responded, the faintest trace of humor in his tone. _

_There was the briefest of silences and he found himself closing his eyes, his breathing shallowing out slowly. _

"_Isn't falling beautiful, Loki? It makes one feel lighter, makes them feel like they've done something worthy of respect," he chuckled softly and hummed softly "why'd you catch me, Loki? Why'd you save one who is worthy of the death they've chosen for themselves? why couldn't you let me fall?"_

_And just like that, the dam was broken and amidst harsh words, rugged whispers, pleads of sadness and eagerness to die, Loki saw himself within the other. He flinched as the other continued to speak, not wanting to believe that someone he deemed an equal has sunk almost as deep as he had and as the other male in his arms fell asleep, Loki muttered a soft spell and teleported them to his private domain._

— xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo — xoxoxoxo —

I told you that we'd meet again at the bottom, but I hope you haven't begun to heave sighs of relief yet, my dear readers, because while this is the _bottom_, it is not _rock bottom_. And before one must go up, they must down...for that is the true law of gravity. And life...life is _purely gravity._

Until next time.

* * *

**AN:** Initially, I wasn't going to include the section from the mini-fill in this, but it seemed kind of poetic to do so and so I did. This is longer than the previous chapter and I genuinely don't know what happened here, but I hope it's good enough. Also, the wait is something I need to apologize for. My lappy's been overheating and until I get my new cooling fan, it's gonna take me sometime to get things done especially with it shutting down so often. Sigh. Forgive me.

On another hand, this chapter does confusing things to me. A part of me likes it, but another part, doesn't. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy it. And remember, it's almost as hard for me to write as it is for you all to read. ((Sorry Tony, bby. I still love you. U da 1 I dream about all da time, boo. _Ignore me, please._))

As a final note, I must add in that the line: "And before one must go up, they must down...for that is the true law of gravity." is essentially incorrect for there is what we call Hyperbolic Gravity. So...take that as you will (I felt like being a bit witty).

— sincerely, **`crazy.{botch}**


End file.
